“Good morning, Mr. Carver! I hope you’re having a great morning.”
This was said by my personal secretary, Miss Cashtushy, when I walked into the offices of Luddite, Crapstone & Fuchs at a quarter to eleven. Furthermore, she was smiling like a lunatic when she said it. Frankly, it made me suspicious that she was up to something.
“It’s good enough so far,” I replied cagily. “But that will change in a hurry if you’re about to ask me for a raise.”
“Not at all, sir,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes. “I’m just very, very happy today.”
“Oh? Why is that? Did you finally come to your senses and dump that ugly fiance of yours?”
“Ha! Not even mean comments about my beloved Prince Khalid can get me down today… and it’s all because Mr. Whiffles came back last night!”
“Mr. Whiffles? Is that some kind of 21st century code for your monthly visitor?”
“Oh, for the love of–! Grow up, Cashtushy!”
“You heard me: grow up. You’re far too mature, and far too beautiful, to let disease-ridden creatures like that dictate your mood.”
Well, I guess found cats aren’t the cure-all mood correctors that Cashtushy previously believed them to be, because even I won’t repeat the string of filth that flew out of her mouth at that point. But I will tell you that the outburst gave me the first Viagra-free boner I’ve had in months. So it had that going for it, which was nice.